How to Live Again:A Guide for those who need it
by Me467
Summary: When you've forgotten how to live, there's always someone there to help you re-learn everything.Reviews would be appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

How to Live Again: A Guide for those who need it.

(Starts off poorly, but it gets better.)

The heavy beats of the music blaring in her ears seemed to blend with the pounding of her foot steps against the treadmill. Ziva hadn't had the time- or the energy –to make it back to her apartment and run her regular route, so she settled for speeding off to her favourite gym in her little red mini cooper.

People said that the 'cute` qualities of her car contradicted her personality, and she agreed. The only reason she had picked this car out of all of the vehicles that seemed to suit her more at her local dealership, was because of its easy manoeuvrability. She could weave her way in and out of crawling traffic with effortlessness, and fitting into small spaces seemed to be her specialty. So Ziva could get where she needed, or in this case wanted, to be with lightning speed. This was perfect for a day like today, when Gibbs had given his team just a couple of hours to do what they pleased after working for several days straight.

Most who have met the Gibblets would assume that they were extremely dedicated agents, who are faithful to their jobs, and finding the truth. But anyone who took the time to gently pick apart the tightly-nit fibres of the team would know that that was only part of the equation. Though they did love America, and work to make it safe, each agent had their own particular reason for working at NCIS.

Abby Scuito, for example, wished to honour her father, who had been a decorated marine. But her love for science made job choices difficult. NCIS was the perfect compromise. Whereas Timothy McGee had always yearned for the life of a law enforcement officer, whether it be as the captain of his own space ship, sent into outer space by the government on a mission to conquer planets, or as a special agent working to bring bad guys to justice. The internship program at NCIS had been the perfect opportunity for Timmy to try out working for the government. Meant to be a stepping stone to higher places, this job was definitely going to be temporary. McGee was capable of bigger things than head slaps and coffee runs. And he didn't know how much longer he could take agent Dinozzo's constant ridiculing. He dealt with bullies, jerks, and pompous frat boys throughout high school and college, he had had enough. But the quirky personalities of his co-workers slowly won him over, and he became immune to Tony's shots at his ego, Gibb's constant disapproval of his love for technology, and Ducky's strong need to lecture him on everything Scottish, English, and anything in between. Tim learned to love his job, and the feeling that comes from doing it right.

Dinozzo, on the other hand, didn't become a cop for the warm, fuzzy feeling you get inside when you help others. All he ever wanted was to carry a gun, wear sexy glasses, be surrounded by chicks, and get caught in shootouts. But his dreams fell short in Baltimore, so NCIS was his plan B.

Gibb's reason for working at NCIS was pretty obvious. He was an ex-marine, or rather he was still a marine, because according to him, if you were once a marine, you were a marine forevermore.

Though every agent's story was unique, Ziva's was by far the most interesting. She had never aspired to work at NCIS. She had never even waned to become an American citizen. All she ever wanted to do was dance, to let her body move the way it wanted to, the way it needed to.

Her mother had signed her up for ballet when she was a young girl, and Ziva had detested her for it. But as she aged, she took a firm liking to the weekly classes. She became obsessed with the feeling of complete bliss that was complementary with moving in time with the music, and pushing her muscles past every boundary that presented itself. She poured every fibre of her being into dance, and transformed into the most graceful, dedicated, and talented young dancer her teacher ever had the pleasure of instructing.

Ziva's mother hired her daughter the most qualified tutor available, and increased the amount of time she danced from two hours a week, to four hours after school every evening. Ballet became her only escape. From her father, from stress, and from life. When she danced she felt safe, and in control, unlike reality, where she was weak and defenceless to her father's cruelty. Dancing made her strong.

But Ziva's time as a talented young performer was short lived; Eli saw her obsession with dance a distraction to her duties as an Israeli. And, despite his wife's wishes, he ordered all lessons be ceased to make space for his daughter's training. If one good thing had come from Ziva's addiction to ballet, it had been the way constant movement had made her body hard, and extremely muscular. Eli would often find himself smiling whenever he thought of just how toned his daughter had become, she was also capable of contorting her body into a variety of natural, and intensely unnatural positions. This, he would soon find, made her a whiz at hand to hand combat.

So it was then that Ziva's training began, and she soon found that training was the most important thing to her father, not her. Eli pushed her to the breaking point, waking her up at 4:00 am every morning before school, sending her on excruciatingly long runs, and testing her endurance. She would go through the school day utterly exhausted, and instead of coming home and being able to seek relaxation, she fell victim to her father's harsh, almost abusive training method once again. Getting through each day became torture, and Ziva was beginning to more frequently consider giving in. Giving in to the to the beatings when she didn't do something perfectly, giving in to the agony of looking herself in the mirror, and wanting to be able to scrape off the bruises, giving in to the occasional thoughts of ending it all. But she couldn't give in. She knew that somewhere, somehow, she could have more of a potential than being a mindless drone of her father's. She could find a way to deal with the pain and suffering, she had to. And she did, the one way to rid her life of sadness and torture, was to not feel them. But in order to do this, she realised, Ziva would have to create a mental barrier from everything, or in other words, she couldn't let herself feel anything. In order to cast away the pain, she would have to give up feeling happiness, innocence, and love. But this was a sacrifice she was willing to make; she would do anything she had to to survive.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As soon as Tony had gotten to his apartment, he flopped down on his overstuffed sofa and popped "Die Hard" into his movie player. He knew he should be taking a shower; he hadn't had one in days. But as the opening credits rolled silently onto the screen, he couldn't will himself to stop the movie and walk to the bathroom, that would be too much work.

He sat placidly on the couch; his limbs sprawled over the sides carelessly as Bruce Willis dodged another speeding bullet. _That guy gets it good..._ thought Tony _no worries, never gets hurt, but he is bald though. Guess that's one good thing about my life._

He continued to watch in a semi-focused state, not entirely paying attention, but catching bits and pieces. He could always watch it again if he felt he missed too much. He caught himself starting to doze off, and turned the volume down. Soon enough he had fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling in an even, silent pace. It was understandable that Tony had succumbed to sleep. Gibbs had pushed the team incredibly had lately, and the long hours and straight days of working were starting to catch up with him. He noticed they took their toll on McGee too, and the younger agent had seemed almost comatose over the last few days. Tony would catch McGee staring off into space occasionally, his mouth hanging open wide enough that he half expected if he looked into the gaping hole he would find that several species of small animals had found a home there, and set up a permanent residence.

Ziva, on the other hand, seemed to be completely immune to the affects of sleep deprivation. Her eyes never losing their delicate glow, and not a single strand of overworked hair falling out of place. She continued to type furiously for hours after Gibbs, McGee, and Tony had lost their fight with the sandman. And Tony awoke to the sound of her long fingers gliding effortlessly over her keyboard. He had told her to sleep, seeing that everyone else had allowed themselves the luxury. But she denied, and turned back to her work. _Damn, that kid is loyal,_ he had thought at the time, _such a waste._

Ziva adjusted the settings on the treadmill as she glanced at the clock. She would have to have time to cool off before she got back to work, so she let her machine slow down to a jogging pace, the walking, then she turned off the treadmill and strolled over to the women's change room.

She stared at her reflection in the large, floor to ceiling mirror. _Ew,_ she thought as she pulled her hair out of the tight not it had been in. She felt sweaty, overworked, and tired. And all three of those feelings were evident on her body. The thin layer of perspiration that coated her skin with sheen ran down from her neck, to her chest and back, and her hair flopped around uncompromisingly, causing her to plop down onto the bench opposite the wall with a sigh. Her hair and her sweatiness she could fix, but the dark circles under her eyes were a dead giveaway of just how tired she really was. Tony, McGee, and Gibbs would surely return fresh and awake, having caught several hours of sleep before refuelling with several doses of caffeine. She, on the other hand, would be tired and groggy, and her judgement would be impaired. Gibbs had given his team this time to re-energize themselves, but she had chosen to work out instead. Great.

She peeled off her skin tight exercise clothing, sighing as she felt her body seem to take a breath of relief at its being unconfined. She padded slowly over to the shower room. Though it may seem odd, showering was always her favourite part of working out, especially at this gym. This particular area of the change room seemed different from the rest, the elaborate, and somewhat eccentric patterned tiles disappeared to make way for the dark panels of wood that lined the walls. The lights were dimmer, casting sections of the room into almost complete darkness, but the natural light from the window that covered most of the ceiling and the far wall illuminated a small patch of the room. But the cracks in the large pane of glass sent abstract patterns of lines across the whole space. The shower stalls were planted directly under the skylight, giving the only utilitarian portion of the area a bright, weightless feel.

Ziva adjusted the water temperature to the hottest it could possibly go, without boiling the skin off her bones. She stepped cautiously under the gentle spray of water, gasping slightly as the heat engulfed her aching body. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the constant drip from the hole in the piping lull her into a calm, peaceful state. Her body was bathed in pure, crystalline light, her senses hyper indulged by the exquisite feels, smells, and sounds of the room. Steam spilled over the sides of the stall, drifting slowly over the panelled floor.

The air was starting to become humid, and thick. And every breath that Ziva managed to take in felt heavy, as though she had inhaled a gas that solidifies itself inside the lungs. As she started to fall deeper into a state of relaxation the feel of the warm spray on her back changed. The gentle stream of water became strong, broad hands that ran down her firm back, over her backside, and down her legs. The heat became a passionate embrace that wrapped itself around her and caressed every nook and cranny of her petite frame. She tilted her head back to give this mystery man space to touch her more intensely, and he responded. Running his calloused fingers down the graceful planes of her neck, across her shoulders and arms, and cautiously caressing her breasts. She willed him to do more, to push harder and move faster. But the loving touch of this man suddenly disappeared, leaving Ziva suddenly alone in the shower room. She shut off the water and wrapped herself in her towel. She stood dripping, chilled, and extremely lonely in the middle of the exotic shower room.

She yearned for the powerful, yet teasing caress of her imaginary lover. But he was nowhere to be found. She reasoned he was probably off being some other Israeli assassin's fantasy, even her own creation had abandoned her. What a fantastic start to the day.

She stood in front of the large mirror once again, this time fully clothed. She wore tight denim jeans, a form-fitting hoodie, and her hair was down and free. She would have normally planned to wear more work appropriate apparel, but she assumed Gibbs and McGee would understand and not ask any questions. Tony, however, would have a field day trying to figure out why she was dressed so casually. He would poke and prod every area that he thought needed poking and prodding. He would stare at her even more than he already did, leaving hot trails across her skin where his eyes had dared to wander. Ziva would try her best to ignore his judgemental gaze, but she would end up having to take several coffee breaks, (even though she didn't actually like coffee) as was usual when she fell victim to his heated gaze. But she could deal with it, whatever problem that was presented could be dealt with.

And she would rather be at NCIS, so she had work she could bury herself in, instead of having time to think. She hated when she had time to think. Her mind would often wander back to when she was a child, when she actually had a chance to be a child. When Ari, Talia, and she would explore the lush forests in Haifa, building imaginary worlds with kings and queens, knights and princes, large, majestic castles, and a kingdom to themselves. They would frolic about in their land for hours, assigning each other different roles in the kingdom. Tali would always be the princess, Ziva the loyal knight, and Ari any of the numerous criminals that guarded Tali's tower.

The three of them would spend each day, if possible, in their forested escape, never leaving a rock unturned, a stream clean, or an area unexplored.

The more time they spent away from their father, the less afraid of him they became. And soon enough they could take his scoldings, punishments, and beatings easily, they weren't mere children anymore, they were rulers of an all powerful kingdom. They conquered beasts of all kinds, took down fierce villains, and faced opponents who were a million times more evil than their father. They could stand strong through any amount of torture Eli decided to put them through. They were invincible.

But things changed when Ziva's father grew tired of his children's growing defiance. He could not, and would not, let everything he worked to build in his offspring go to waste because of some childish fantasy.

One early spring day Eli shook Ziva awake, "Get up," he whispered harshly, _"now!"_ He dragged his daughter by the scruff of her neck outside. Tali and Ari, awoken by their father's booming footsteps, followed loyally behind their elder sister to the chair he had placed deep in the middle of the forest. He threw her down roughly onto the makeshift seat, and, not wanting to anger her father more, Ziva sat still as he tied her down with rope.

Sensing what was coming, she commanded her younger siblings to leave her, and go get her mother. But they stayed, rooted to the spot in horror as Eli struck his daughter, again, and again. He beat her until his hand became tired, and then he took out the whip his brother had made him from rattlesnake sinew. The long strip was hard, but it had the perfect amount of flexibility for the task at hand. He cut the binds off of Ziva's bloody wrists, and pushed her face first into a broad, strong tree. He ordered her to take off her shirt, and she complied, screaming in agony as the wounds on her arms bled in protest. He kicked his daughter's soiled shirt out of his way, and began lashing at her back.

The torture continued for hours, Ari and Tali sobbing throughout. But Eli finished finally, leaving his daughter wounded and weak on the ground.

Ziva's mother had found her days later, seeing that Eli had told her that her daughter had merely gone for a sleepover, and would return soon, and Ari and Tali were far too afraid of their father to say otherwise.

Ziva was admitted to critical condition, and remained there for several months before she was allowed to return home. But even then she was confined to her room for weeks, doctor's orders.

But her father would not stand for his daughter to miss out on any training, so she was forced to resume her extensive exercise program, her wounds would have made physical activity impossible for any other child, but Ziva made it through, somehow.

She could make it through any, and everything on her own. And that is what she intended to do for the rest of her life.

Ziva slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked silently into the bullpen.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The day went by just as Tony had thought it would, Ziva and McGee finishing up their paperwork, while he mocked them for being so dedicated. But one thing he hadn't expected was how obviously tired Ziva appeared. He understood her clothing choices; she most likely didn't have the time to pick out one of her extravagant, flattering outfits, straighten her thick locks, or apply layers of make-up that she didn't actually need. However, he assumed she would have at least slept while she was at her apartment, since she seemed to hold a strong dislike for sleeping in public, but the dark circles under her eyes showed him she had done otherwise.

It was moments like these that made Tony wonder what Ziva really did in her spare time, did she thwart mysterious operations, did she single-handedly take down vicious criminals, or did she really sit at home and read like she said she did. He didn't know, and didn't expect to find out anytime soon. All he did know was that Ziva was an extremely private person. He often felt the urge to ask her what she liked to do, but he knew he would get the same answer he always did. It was always _none of his business, nothing, _or better yet; _why did he want to know._

He wanted to know because she was interesting. She was probably the most interesting person he knew, he could never tell what emotions she hid behind her blank mask, and the occasional moments when she proved that she _could _feel, always confused him. She, normally, would act completely uninterested with him, she didn't seem to care what he did, who he did, or how he did them, but he couldn't help but notice the flash of _something_ in her eyes whenever he spoke of the women in his life. He noticed every time her carefully controlled wall cracked, every time she showed that there was a live, breathing person under the cool, calm exterior.

He, on the other hand, was like an open book compared to Ziva. He always wanted people to know what he was thinking and feeling; he lived for the attention he seemed to get whenever he showed the slightest bit of pain. People fussed over him as if he was some sort of lost puppy, and he loved it.

But Ziva kept everything locked inside. At first he had tried extremely hard to get through to see the soft, emotional side of his partner, it had become a goal of his. Now Tony would never try to break her wall. He had found over the years that she had built it for a very good reason. Without it she wouldn't be where she was today, a strong, independent woman. She would be nothing but a tortured soul, tied down by pain and fear. But by distancing herself from anything that seemed like it could result in the resurfacing of those oh-so-precious emotions, she made herself able to function, she made herself able to live. He couldn't risk hurting her; he would never forgive himself if he did.

He was snapped out of his somewhat melancholy state by an angered stream of words mumbled in Hebrew. He looked up to see his partner alert and awake, her eyes blazing with fury, pointing her gun at her computer.

'Zee-vah,' he sighed as he stood up stiffly and jogged over to her desk 'the computer did nothing to you; you don't need to shoot it.' He said softly, laying a hand gently on her arm. She lowered her gun, her finger still licked on the trigger. He shot out his hand in an attempt to grab the weapon from the crazed assassin, but all he received was a deadly glare, and a swift swat at his stomach.

She slipped her gun into its place at her waist, her shoulders slumping forward slightly as she did so.

'It keeps underlining all of my words with a squigler red line.' She announced with a dramatic hand gesture. Tony sat in Ziva's chair and wheeled it back over to her terrorized computer. He studied the screen, taking in the 'squigler' red lines that underlined every single word that she had typed. He looked closer, squinting to be able to read the miniscule font.

Nothing was wrong with the computer; Ziva had merely spelled over a thousand words incorrectly. Tony told her about her mistake, staring up at her, clearly amused by her situation.

'I did not spell all of those words incorrectly, Tony. The machine must be wrong!'

'Since when does _murder_ have a Q in it?'

'It is a silent Q,' she said smugly, and Tony smiled as he noticed she was almost boasting 'if it was not silent the word would be murqdered.'

Though her speech was lively and quick, Tony couldn't help but observe that the circles under her eyes had gone from a dark grey, to a light purple. The reason she couldn't spell, and was obviously irritable was because she was exhausted.

He glanced over at McGee, whose head had bent so far backwards that he could easily picture it snapping off, a spit bubble forming in between his separated lips as he exhaled.

Gibbs, on the other hand, seemed to be sleeping more peacefully, his silver-coated head resting on the edge of his desk, his soft snores the only sigh that he was still breathing.

Tony looked back at Ziva, who, sensing what he was trying to say, mumbled, 'I am not sleeping,' quietly into his ear. He shot her an angered glance, if looks could kill, Ziva would have been rolling over in her grave. She needed to sleep, she most likely hadn't for several days, and he would _not_ sleep with Ziva still working.

He thought about sleeping in a dark, practically abandoned office building while an irritable assassin lay just a few feet away, wide awake, watching him eerily. It might be dangerous, but he would swim with man-eating crocodiles if it would make Ziva happy.

He tip-toed as quietly as he could back over to his desk and pulled out a pillow, he tossed it weakly to her and dug even deeper into his drawer to find a blanket for himself. After managing to attain everything he needed for himself and Ziva, (except for an extra pillow) he removed his gun from his wastes and tucked it into his now overflowing desk drawer.

He lowered himself slowly to the ground, wincing at how stiff he had suddenly become, and glanced over at his partner. She was already settled comfortably on the carpeted floor, he blanket tucked up to her chin and her dark curls spread out over the pillow.

'Got your gun Ziva?' he asked out of curiosity.

She only slept with her firearm when she felt there was something worth protecting. She drew her arm out from under her pillow and showed him her weapon in an answer. She put it back under the pillow, turned so she was facing the other way, and allowed her now heavy eyelids to shut gently, not realising she would actually did.

Ziva's eyes fluttered open, and she took in her surroundings once again. Staring at the low, plain ceiling, taking in the complete bareness of the room, and glancing at her door slightly anxiously, making sure she had locked it from the inside. Once she was sure she was safe, and alone inside the cold, empty space, she crawled out of bed and slipped on her regular attire; cargo pants, and a black t-shirt. She cranked open her window, wincing slightly at the grinding noise it made, most likely due to the scarce usage. She hoisted herself up onto the window ledge and leapt silently out of the enclosed space.

She allowed herself the luxury of taking a quick breath of the pure, damp air that seemed to hang around her. It felt good to be out in the open, but surely the reason it felt this good was because she was forbidden to leave without her father's permission. But this was a special occasion, literally.

She crept along the edge of the roof, cautiously avoiding the areas she had marked earlier that day. She knew she was taking a rather large risk, but it was worth it, she could stand the harsh abuse she would receive when her father had found out that she had gone, and surely he would.

No matter what precautions she took, Eli always knew when something was up. He had learned long ago that his daughter was not to be trusted when it came to obeying his rules. She was stubborn, obnoxious, and unbearably devious. But she would make a damn good Mossad operative.

Ziva flinched as she landed awkwardly after leaping over large pile of debris, her wounds from the previous night stretching and tearing even more in protest. As she neared her destination her breath caught suddenly, her silent intake of breath causing her heart to skip a beat. She ducked quickly into the shadows of a strange, disfigured formation that vaguely resembled a chimney, watching the dark figure stroll across her poorly managed lawn, their footsteps echoing throughout the vast, empty outdoor corridors.

Once the hunched form had passed, she leapt silently and smoothly out of her shadowed area, resuming her trek along the edge of the roof.

Once she viewed the peak of wood that jutted out of her intended goal, she shuffled cautiously out onto the ledge and, having reached the tip, stepped gracefully off of the tenuous pole.

She fell through the air for several seconds, relishing the feeling of weightlessness, and excitement as she went. But she had to eventually reach forward and grab hold of the chipping windowsill in front of her, or else her father would have nothing left to torture but a heap of dead ninja.

She hauled herself up onto the flexing ledge and swung effortlessly through the window, landing softly upon the dull carpet.

She crept silently over to the bed that resided on the far wall, observing the still, peaceful figure that lay in it. Their chest rose and fell evenly and noiselessly. She perched herself on the end of Tali's bed, reaching out to gently remove the hair from her tired face. Her sister's eyes shot open as she did so, surely the result of the intense training they had been put through so that they would wake at any slight disturbance that presented itself during their sleep.

The crease of fear that had latched onto her forehead disappeared suddenly as she realised it was her sister who had awoken her. Tali bolted upright in her bed, eyes widening as she remembered Ziva's discrete 'mission' on the roof the day before. She had been planning to Tali's room, risking a severe punishment and possibly even death for nothing other than her younger sibling's birthday.

'Ziva!' she snapped, 'Do you _know_ what Eli will do to you if he finds out you have left your quarters?'

'Yes,' she ginned up at her sister, 'but this is an important occasion, it is your birthday!'

'It does not matter, you have already broken enough rules this week, and I would not want to see you receive any more punishment.'

Tali sighed, obviously questioning her sister's sanity.

'We will not get caught' Ziva said in a vain attempt to calm Tali's nerves, even though she knew that they would most likely be caught and punished, 'come!'

Ziva stood quickly, jumped out of the window and landed gracefully on the ledge of the floor below her sister could even managed to throw the covers off of her tired, heavy legs. Tali smiled at Ziva's apparent obnoxiousness. Despite the fact that Ziva was older, she seemed to always be the less grounded of the two, never accepting the reality of something unless she had seen it before her very eyes.

She not only mentally acted younger, but physically too. She could leap from building to building in town with extreme ease, and practice hand to hand combat all day and remain just as bright and full of energy as she had been in the early morning, looking extremely confused when she noticed how tired her sister always became after training.

Tali sighed once again and climbed out of the window to join her sister.

She peered down at Ari and Ziva from the edge of the third floor balcony; did they really expect her to climb down the side of the wall at three in the morning? She leaned against the hard, glass sliding doors that led out to the platform she was standing on, letting her fingers subconsciously over the intricate designs, and planning her descent down the side of her prison.

She shuffled up to the ledge once again and observed the unevenly spaced holes in the brickwork, that was one possibility of getting down, though the other idea she had conjured up seemed more suitable to her physical capabilities.

She scanned the wall for the final time, attempting to make herself sure her choice would be safe, or at least safer. For any regular person the chance the chance of casualties due to this daring stunt was similar to fifty percent. For her it was more like seventy five.

She closed her eyes, calming herself like Ziva had taught her to, breathing in, an out slowly as though she was meditating. She placed her somewhat stubby fingers on the high railing that blocked her from the outside world, clambered over, and began climbing down the strands of ivy that clung to the wall.

'Could you have taken any longer?' Ari whispered in her ear, 'I was afraid Eli had found you already.'

Tali rolled her eyes before jogging of to catch up with Ziva, who, being slightly less patient than her brother, had stalked off in the direction of the back rode that led to town.

The early morning mist seemed to cling to her thick body of hair, weighing her down as her feet beat softly across the dirt, with Tali following slightly out of breath. Ziva scanned the scenery around her for familiar landmarks as she walked. Mountains loomed in the distance to her right, their peaks layered in white, as though they had been ripped from their place in the ground and dipped into a thick paint, the colours hovering behind them casting streaks of light through the dark forest to her left. The colours contrasted the deep mouth of the forest, the deep abyss seeming anything but inviting.

Farther off she could glimpse the shore of a lake, and the almost luminescent waves that lapped up upon it.

She knew exactly where she was, and where she needed to go. She turned to the left and jogged towards the wooded section of her father's land.

Ziva followed the winding path until she reached a rather frail looking bridge that was stretched to what looked like its breaking point across a narrow, rapidly flowing river. She stepped cautiously up onto the fraying rope, and, once having steadied herself, ran delicately across, her bare toes skimming over the rope so as not to make it snap. She waited at the other side as Tali attempted to do so, the Ari, both barely managing to make it over to where Ziva was crouched beside a tall gate.

Once they had joined her she dropped heavily onto her stomach and slid under the barricade. They were officially off of their father's property. She stood and filled her aching lungs with the fresh, sweet air that seemed to be about a million times more pure than the air behind the gate. It always amazed her that whenever she left Eli's domain, everything around her suddenly became more radiant, more alive. Her father had that affect on all things; he sucked the life out of everything, leaving nothing wholesome in his wake.

Once her siblings and her had reached town, Ziva and Ari lead Tali to an alley that drew away from the market, Ziva lead the procession of three tired, filthy teenagers over to a door that had sunken into the wall behind it over several years of scarce usage, picked the lick, and began ascending the plain, yet strangely luminescent steel staircase that had been constructed for no apparent reason.

She reached the top only slightly out of breath, but with her feet sore and crusted with blood from the occasional sharp objects that had crossed her path. She couldn't rest now though; they still had several miles to go before they came even remotely near to their destination.

She ran her hands along the poor brickwork, pulling several blocks of concrete out of the wall once she had found a small speck of orange paint that had been placed there by wary construction workers so that residents in the building would be wary also. She crept out of the hole she had made and found herself exactly where she wanted to be, on the roof of an elderly stonemason's humble abode.

The sky had changed to a deep gray, and Ziva began running along the line of rooftops to avoid the impending threat of rain.

Tali jogged after Ziva and found her at the door of a squat, poorly built, and vaguely familiar farmhouse. She stared slightly dazed at the newfound scenery around her. She had been too busy dwelling on how tired she was to notice the subtle nuances in the surrounding land.

The grass under her feet was long and fine and it spread across the gently rolling field she was in as though it had been layered onto the soil unevenly, like butter onto toast. The fiercely pointed mountains made way for soft, tumbling hills that were painted across the horizon.

She turned to face Ziva and was startled to find her knocking on the door of the rundown home. All of the energy she had had a minute go faded from a brilliant glow, to a dull shine as she waited for an answer.

The door opened, but Tali's view of the habitant was blocked by her sister. Ziva and the stranger spoke rapidly in Hebrew, one blocking the others quiet whispers out, and vice versa.

Ziva and the man's conversation ceased, and Ziva stepped aside, revealing a squat, homely man whose smile seemed to reach the ears on either side of his face. Tali stepped towards him, smiling back, but not nearly as brightly. As she got closer the smile slowly slid off of his face, disbelief and wonder creasing the edges of his eyes.

He reached forward and ran his worn fingers across her cheek. But when she tried to lean away from the man's touch he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a fierce hug, his hot tears streaming down through the crevices on his face and pooling on her head. She succumbed to the sudden display of affection from this stranger and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head onto his heaving chest.

Tali looked over at Ziva, who was sprawled over a makeshift bench, chuckling softly at Tali's situation.

"Meet your Uncle Tali," she managed in between spurts of laughter.

Tali never knew that she had had an Uncle. If she had she would normally have been ashamed that there was another man related to her father in existence, but this man was kind and gentle, warm and affectionate, and bubbling with life. Apparently his name was Hassan, a distinctly Arabic name, but Tali didn't bother to ask him why. She was satisfied with the things she did learn. About his, or rather _her_ family, and what a fantastic life everyone but her mother and father seemed to live.

They spoke for what felt like hours before Ziva returned from God knows where, Ari following loyally at her side.

"Hassan, might you like to take Tali for a ride around your property, Ari and I could meet you in town?"

He answered with a hard nod and a smile, "Definitely," he held out his arm for Tali, "Shall we?"

Ziva and her brother watched in silence while Hassan boosted Tali up onto a proud Arab mare, a smile so large plastered across her face that looked as if it would be too chipper for the happiest clown alive.

Ziva's gaze flitted off of her sister's retreating form and rose to stare at the sunset. She relaxed the tight muscles around her eyes, and let the hard line her mouth had taken the shape of settle into the regular shape of her full, lush lips.

Behind the orange tinted clouds stars peeked through, their pure flashing light taunting her, beckoning her to come and join them and sit peacefully upon the clouds, watching as the world below her turned. The disappearing sun sending streaks of brilliance across the skyline, fiery streaks licked over pale blue.

Her mask snapped back into place when Ari's voice tumbled over her pensive mood.

"Who is that man," he asked "because he is not our Uncle."

She turned towards him, eyebrows raised in shock,

"Don't act surprised, sweetheart," he snapped, "You would have told me as soon as you had found him, if he actually was our Uncle."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What makes you think I would do that? I might just keep the fact that I had met the only possible person capable of legally being Tali's guardian to myself, because I am that type of person. You know me _oh-so_ well, Ari."

"Ziva," he sighed in exasperation, "I _do_ know you. Or at least well enough to know that whenever you see the opportunity to change two apparently hopeless lives you jump at the chance." A pause, "So what, or should I say who, needed fixing this time?"

"I met Hassan on the street months ago," she spoke quickly, her words racing to catch the one coming before it, "he had lost his niece several years past."

Ari's eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in obvious disapproval. He started to speak, but Ziva silenced him with her hand, "Let me speak."

"We talked for several hours and I managed to get him to show me a picture of his niece. She looked just like Tali, I-"

Ari interrupted "Took that as an opportunity to trick a grieving old man into thinking that his niece was alive and well, only to have to crush his hopes when you tell him that his niece really is dead, and this was all a cruel joke?" He was yelling now.

"I was planning on not telling him. If everything goes well today then Tali can visit him often and he will not have to know."

"_If _everything goes well, what makes you say that it will?"

"I have a feeling."

"Fantastic. We can all rely on your feelings to save the day." His voice dripped with bitter sarcasm.

"Everything will be fine, Ari," she laid a scarred hand across his arm, "trust me."

She turned and headed towards town, "Just," she stopped and waited for him to continue, "do not get anyone killed."

She lifted her chin and stared him strait in the eye "I promise I will not."

She paused, flashed him her famous Cheshire cat grin, and ran off to meet up with Tali and their 'Uncle'.

As she neared the location Hassan had promised to be with her sister she slowed, scanning each strange face for one of familiarity. There were crowds of pale, tired tourists wandering through the streets, making the task of finding Tali even harder than it would have usually been.

She attempted to peer over the heads of the people, but, due to her height that failed. Her intrigue was captured by a group of tourists gathered around a still form, some gasping in shock and horror, some weeping silently, others were extremely distraught, shaking and moaning and covering their ears, as if someone had fired a deafening weapon directly beside their ears.

She called out to the group, but received no answer. She called out once more, again to no prevail. She jogged behind the gaggle of people, and took in the scene around her. The walls of the surrounding buildings were reduced to ruins, the remaining edges charred and burnt to a crisp. _Bomb,_ she thought solemnly to herself.

She pushed her way through the odorous wall of tourists; she could at least attempt to assist the obviously wounded on the inside of the barricade, instead of staring open-mouthed and acting completely useless.

She made her way to the middle of the circle, marvelling to herself about the strange behaviours of foreigners, _they are similar to apes_, she smirked.

She knelt beside the first victim, there was luckily only two. The figure further down seemed fine, so would have to tend to the young stranger in front of her first. She pressed her fingers gently into the child's, a girl; neck just off to the side of her blood streaked jaw line. Her heart wasn't beating, she checked to see if she was breathing, just to be sure that there was nothing she could do. She wasn't breathing either.

She didn't know much about first aid, or helping anyone in a critical condition. But one of the few useful things her father had taught her was how to revive someone.

She began compressions, her arms soon aching from the sheer amount of force she was applying to the young girl's chest. After thrusting the full force of her body into the girl's chest thirty times, she tilted her head back to that the air she blew into the stranger's mouth wouldn't go into her stomach, causing her to vomit into Ziva's face. She breathed twice, and resumed compressions.

Somehow, through the force of her compressions she was able to order an onlooker to call an ambulance. One whipped out their cell phone and attempted to communicate with the operator on the other side of the line in Hebrew, Ziva sighed to herself, this would take a while.

Once she breathed into the child's mouth for the final time before the Ambulance came, though, a thin stream of blood shot out of the girl's torso, exactly in the middle of where her lung was. She sighed in exasperation and horror, this child was practically a goner already, Ziva couldn't do much more but sit and watch while her breaths caused blood to flow out of the hole in the child's lung.

She sat back and wiped her nose and mouth with the back of her arm, so as not to smear the girl's blood all over her face.

She stood and walked towards the Ambulance as it rounded the corner; spoke briefly with a paramedic whose two partners were tending to the child. The way his partners made no hurry to load the child into their vehicle made the tears she had so desperately been trying to hold back spring the surface and pool, causing her vision to blur.

Ziva was just about to turn to leave and resume her search for Tali and Hassan when she heard a shouting from the Ambulance. A paramedic leaned out of the back doors and waved her over. They had gotten the girl's heart beating.

The handsome man told her to apply pressure to the wound on the girl's side, and she did so. She watched as the men scurried around the tight space in the back, attempting to avoid knocking over the girl's gurney. Her attention turned to the child's face as she coughed and sputtered painfully, blood leaking out of the corners of her mouth.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, so tight that the edges turned white. A slightly overweight paramedic came and applied pressure to her wound, so Ziva's hands were free; she reached out and grabbed the girl's. Her eyes opened at the touch and Ziva shrunk back, away from the girl.

She let her tears fall freely, the salty liquid streaking down her face, leaving clean streaks through the blood and grime. Her lip shook, and her chest and throat filled with a heavy, unbearable pain. She heard a terrible moan, filled with heartache and was scared to find that it had escaped from her own lips.

She sobbed onto her sister's chest, her voice sounding the most desperate she had ever heard it when she sputtered, "Tali..." she choked back more tears, "I am sorry."

She looked down at her younger sister, the one who had stood strong for her, for her entire life she been the only strength she could ever need. The one she had hated at times, but also the one she loved the most.

"Please Tali..." she could barely even hear her own voice, "please."

Her sister coughed again, more blood oozing out of the corners of her mouth, her breathing becoming even more laboured as tears flowed over her cheekbones.

"Tali, you cannot leave." She sounded angry now, "You will not leave me."

"Ziva" she coughed again, the blood from her mouth reaching Ziva's clenched fingers, "You do not need me, you never did. Be strong."

"No!" She screamed. "I cannot. I _need_ you; I cannot be strong without you."

"Yes you can-"

"_No! Please Tali!"_

"It is okay now Ziva, it is alright, I..."

Tali's body went slack, all the pain and suffering that had been evident on her face melting away, her eyes stared past Ziva and into the spot at her shoulder. She was dead.

Ziva screamed and pounded her fists against her sister's lifeless body. Each hit sending her torso jerking upwards, she pulled away after several minutes, "_please, please..." _

Ziva awoke violently, her body jerking upwards with what seemed like an extremely unhealthy snapping sound. She ran her hands over her face to wipe away the grimy tears that had soaked her cheeks and lashes.

She stood silently looking over at Tony as she did so, he looked peaceful. She took her sopping wet pillow and laid it under his head before she headed for the elevator. It was early morning, and she needed fresh air before she returned to work.

But she needed alcohol the most, alcohol always worked.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tony woke to a frantic poking at his cheekbone.

"Not yet Maw Maw," he grumbled "I'll give you your sponge bath later."

"No thanks"

McGee hovered over him, a slightly horrified grimace plastered across his face.

Tony rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow –_wait, - _he thought- _didn't Ziva have my pillow? _ He figured she must have given him her pillow when she left.

He squished his face farther into the pillow and inhaled. It smelled like Ziva. Warm and spicy, yet fresh and bright, like a calm summer breeze. He quickly exhaled and breathed in again, this time catching the faintest whiff of salt. He lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow. Warm, spicy, fresh, bright...yes. Salty? No.

He spread his hands over the wrinkled surface and was surprised to find the thin cover sopping wet. He looked over to where he had last seen her, asleep across the room.

He sniffed again.

Salty.

Wet.

Salty and wet... he pondered what Ziva could have soaked the pillow in to make it smell like that. Salt water, vinegar maybe, eye drops. Tears? No. Ziva didn't cry. She had nothing to cry _about._ Or did she? He really didn't know her all that well. Sure, he knew about her work experiences; he knew all about Mossad and such. He knew everything she was _willing_ to tell him. Which was, in truth, very little.

What _did_ she think about? He would often catch her staring absolutely into nothingness, sitting, oh-so still, and her face blank (as usual) but her eyes screaming with emotion. So many emotions. Browns orbs that sucked him helplessly into their depths. Pulling him under, down, down, down.

He could stare into those eyes forever, trying to read the strange feelings that hid beneath. So many, there were _so many._ Someone had told him once that the eyes were the window to the soul. He didn't know if he believed in souls. But if there were, then Ziva's was the most beautiful he had ever, and most likely would ever, see.

He flipped onto his back again and threw off the blankets that had nearly suffocated him the night before. He cast another hopeful glance toward the area Ziva had slept the night before. She had slept so quietly. She didn't even snore for once. He watched her sleep for several minutes, his breathing pace changing to keep in time with hers. Their chests rising and falling in a silent, even beat, in perfect unison. He had fallen asleep to the perfectly soothing rhythm, the pulses floating into his dreams. Dreams of her.

She sat upon a dangerously slanted rooftop, her legs dangling over the edge.

The sun set over the horizon and sent colours licking over the smooth, even planes of her face like fire licking over oil stricken water. The wind whipped through her hair, sending the perfect, curling tendrils into his face. He stood behind her, her scent enveloping his nose. He inhaled. It drifted through his nostrils and into his brain. Coating every thought with a silky smooth lining.

He moved to sit beside her. She smiled at him and his breath caught in his throat. He sat down beside her and stared into her eyes. The only way that he could tell that it was a dream being that she looked back at him with an equally loving expression. The tiny twitch from the corners of her lips sending a calm radiance skipping over her skin, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly.

It was a kind, loving smile.

It was an unguarded smile.

It was a _real_ smile.

He leaned forward, and so did she. Her breaths slid across his face, sending warm shivers running up and down his spine. Her lips parted. He leaned even closer, their faces mere millimetres apart. His lips brushed her's softly, and her eyes lit up in response. The deep brown changing to resemble the brilliant sunset that bathed them both in silky waves of light. She started to press harder against his lips, and heat flushed across his face just as he was awoken by McGee.

It was a good dream. It was probably the best dream he had ever had. But it was merely a dream, and nothing more. He knew if he was ever caught so much as looking at her strangely, his manly parts, soon after, would no longer be a _part of _his body. No... Ziva would never feel the same way that he did, not even he knew exactly what he felt. Was this a mere fondness? Or was it love? The kind, passionate feeling that was meant to leave you feeling happy and loved in return. Was it love that ate away all the remaining life that he managed to possess, until he became nothing more than a shell of himself? Maybe it was. Maybe movies lied, and everything he thought he knew was wrong.

This feeling; love, as most call it, had him living through a constant haze. Each night he fought a ferocious battle to calm his restless mind and sleep, his thoughts mixing together in an unable-to-be-straightened mass, until he was finally too tired to rest. He wouldn't actually remember whether or not he had gotten to sleep, but he could usually tell that he hadn't by the grey circles under his eyes.

There were, however, upsides to being hopelessly in love. For one, every slight hint that Ziva made that she even considered him as a friend sent his head spinning. Every thought covered in a satin layer, shining painfully bright. Whatever it was that she had done, maybe given him a smile, commented positively on his clothing choices for the day, or looked at him in a way that was indescribably _Ziva,_ his heart fluttered.

But all of his hopes came crashing down when she spoke-much too fondly for his tastes-of someone else. Her eyes would light up and she would lick her lips in a motion that signified affection. She would rarely make that face though, and when she did, blinding anger smoked away any other emotions that struggled to make their way through the rapidly flowing river of his emotions. Causing the haze to descend upon him once again. Each day he struggled to get by, the only thing that allowed him to pull through being her. The desperate hope that fuelled his actions led him to believe that life was worthwhile, whether it be for one reason, or person, for that matter, was never pertinent.

She sat, feeling the weight of the rain seeping deep into the core of her bones. Each breath made her lungs burn, the physical pain slowly becoming the _only _pain she felt. The usual serenity of surrounding darkness seemed lost upon her; she had no patience for calm, and peace, especially in times like these. Times when she woke from angry, heart-wrenching dreams (or memories, rather,) feeling hollow and detached.

She had barely managed to keep her whines and pitiful murmurs quiet enough to not wake Tony as she placed her wet pillow under his head, grabbed her gear, and left.

But, sitting alone beneath the misshapen trunk of a large, barren tree, she dropped her mask, the sudden shattering of the shield she normally treasured causing a spark to fly deep inside of her chest.

The spark warmed her heart, a tender, yearning touch that spoke of the gentle serenity that she had always longed for. Her head spun from the glowing embrace of the spark, and tears flowed freely from her eyes. It wiggled its way into her lungs and set fire to every breath of steam she exhaled, filling her brain with a pleasant numbness, bounced around her ribcage, sending shivers down her spine.

The spark continued to warm her long-dead soul with a blaze so powerful she could practically hear her nerves buzzing with the fierce heat.

The spark grew, and grew some more, it grew until it was no longer a spark, but a passionate flame. A flame of this sort she had only felt once before, after a conversation with her father.

She remembered it as if it had occurred the previous day. When, in truth, it had been years since that first-and last- friendly conversation. It had been a Tuesday. A Tuesday so wet and dark the weather had almost masked her tears. She and Ari had trudged through the lush forests, across barren expanses of desert, and through the slightly dangerous main streets of Haifa, carrying their sister's bloody body. She had died in the Ambulance.

There had been no room in the hospital to hold their sister, and the only morgue within a hundred miles was an elderly woman's walk-in freezer. So Ziva carried Tali's mauled body for hours as she and Ari made the slow descent to her father's estate. Each step made her heart ache more, the cold in her sister's body flowing through her skin and into her heart. From that moment on she promised herself-and Tali-that she would never feel anything again.

She knew the pain of her sister's death would be too much to bear if she dwelled on it, so she locked it all away. Where it still rests today, deep in the black abyss that claimed her soul.

She had collapsed against her front doorstep that evening, Tali's body falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was her father opening the door and sighing with annoyance at her sudden appearance, then his heavy tears dropping onto her forehead as he realised his daughter was the lump of human being in front of her.

The days that passed were filled with grieving, but no punishment.

The day of Tali's funeral Ziva's personal assistant had entered her room early in the morning, when a cloud of deep blue haze still hovered over the neatly moan lawn. She had gotten her dressed, and was about to attempt to tame the mess of chocolate brown curls that had never been properly cared to, when Eli stalked into the room. He spoke briefly to the assistant, mentioning that he "could take care of his own daughter."

He knelt beside her and began to finger a curl. His empty brown eyes were suddenly filled with intense love and care as they bore in his daughter's.

"My sweet, sweet daughter," he pressed the ringlet to his lips.

Ziva struggled to keep her face blank and severe while he spoke to her; her father had never shown this kind of emotion, love.

"I know I may seem distant, on occasion," he mumbled.

_Understatement of the century, _she thought to herself.

"But I want you to know that I-"he faltered.

"I want you to know that I love you."

He pulled her in closer. The awkward embrace brought tears to her eyes.

She sniffed, relaxing into the strange hug.

"I love you too."

Remembering that moment now gave her a sudden rush of strength. She stood up, and made her way to the closest bar.

Tony sat at the bar, staring into his full-to-the-brim beer bottle as if it held all the crazy answers to life. He felt-rather than heard or saw- the presence of someone slide into the empty stool to his left.

The tender was upon them like leach as soon as they sat down.

"And what can I get you Miss?" he drawled.

"First off you can stop calling me miss."

Tony's head shot up at hearing Ziva's voice, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder. Her eyes were blood-shot and rimmed with dark circles; she looked exhausted. He forcefully shook himself out of his trance.

"She'll have the most alcoholic drink you offer. And lots of it," he answered for her.

She glanced sceptically at him, clearly as surprised as he was to find the one another there.

The tender stared at her, waiting for her approval of Tony's order.

"What he said."

He scuttled away.

Tony reached over and pulled her stool closer, her eyes widening as he did so. He stifled back a chuckle. She really did look exhausted. Her hair hung in damp ringlets from the rain outside, and her reached out and gently took one in his fingertips, fingering it tenderly.

He gently lifted her face so her eyes would meet his.

"Why do you look so tired? Where have you been? You left so early this morning" he fired out.

"Doing stuff."

"You should go home and get some sleep, enjoy your weekend."

All he got in return was a nonchalant groan. Her head drooped a little, as if she had fallen asleep, but it jerked up again several seconds later. She seemed to be fighting incredibly hard to avoid falling asleep, but her efforts were failing her.

The Bar Tender returned with a collection of rather extreme looking drinks, each one holding its own strong smell. Tony watched with amazement as Ziva downed each one.

They sat in silence for an hour.

She stood up suddenly, wobbled, and made her way to the door.

"Thanks," she spewed out.

He slapped a colourful collection of bills onto the granite counter and jogged after Ziva. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards him, causing her to teeter slightly.

"Oh no you don't. I'm driving you home. Come on."

He pulled her out towards his car, unlocked it and gestured for her to get it. She tripped over the curb and he took her in his arms, her tiny frame easily lift able.

They arrived at her apartment building a short while after eleven and he guided her up the stairs. It took them ten minutes to get up.

Once they reached the end of the hallway Tony gave up on trying to help her walk and picked her up once again. This time she didn't resist. In fact, she buried her face into his chest and inhaled deeply.

"You smell good," she mumbled.

He rolled his eyes and gently guided her feet to the floor, watching as she dug around in her pocket for the key.

"Shit. I lost my key."

"So," he was expecting her to take out some expertly hidden weapon. "Pick the lock, like you always do."

She stared at him as if he was the one thick enough to down way too much alcohol and not have a planned ride home. She stepped so close that their noses were touching. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered his dream from the night before. How good he imagined it felt to kiss her. It was the only thing he could do not to.

She slapped him out of his lustful state of mind, literally. Her hand connected with the back of his head in an all-too-familiar gesture, causing his nose to knock painfully against hers.

"I cannot pick a lock while I am drunk stupid!"

Once they had magically found their way back to his apartment he set her down gently on his bed. He sat beside her feet and cautiously took off her shoes, not wanting to wake her from her peaceful slumber. He stared at her toes and smiled. They were so unbelievably..._cute_ that he couldn't help but laugh.

He undressed her, delighting in every inch of her caramel hued skin, tucked her in and went to turn off the lights.

"Tony?" She called from the darkness. He smiled again at how tiredness made her rich accent come out more. He walked back to her side.

"Yes?"

"Would it be too much to ask of you to stay here with me?"

He looked down at her, pleasantly surprised at her request. Her huge brown eyes gazed back up at him hopefully.

_Wow,_ he thought, _something really must be bugging her if she's asking _me_ to stay with her. Poor kid._

He crawled in beside her and was delighted to find the bed warm from her body heat already. She shifted closer to him so that her smell was the only thing he could focus on. Warm, spicy, fresh, bright. Like the calm breeze that carries the scent of faraway summer rain. He loved that smell.

She shifted even closer and leaned up to kiss his cheek. He turned such a deep red that he was afraid she would be able to see it through the veil of darkness that surrounded them.

"Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate it."

Her voice quavered slightly as she said his name, causing his heart to ache. Something, or someone had hurt her, and she didn't want to let it show. To make him think of her as weak.

She could never be weak. She would always be the brightest bulb in the pack, the sharpest tool in the shed. However you put it she would always be the one for him. He needed her, and right now she needed him.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he felt her hesitation. But her muscles seemed to relax as he began to stroke the back of her neck in a swirling, spiralling pattern. Soon she drifted off to sleep. She was too tired to even snore.

"Anytime, Ziva. Anytime."


End file.
